Chapter Text
An abyss, dark and comforting, wraps around you like a thick blanket. It's almost like being underwater, deep deep down, where nothing exists. It's nice, peaceful, quiet--
"Mmrrr… "
Ahem, it's completely and utterly sile--
"Mrreow!"
With a small huff, you crack an eye open. Despite your vision still blurry from sleep, you immediately recognize the very indignant, very hungry ball of fur currently standing on your chest.
"... good morning to you too."
Sophie, realizing you were finally awake, bats a paw at your nose, jumping off your chest and parking herself impatiently by the bedroom door.
Guess that was your cue to get up, huh.
Your aching limbs have more than a few complaints as you toss the covers aside, dragging your legs off the bed and planting them firmly on the cold wood floor. Stretching your arms as far as they can go above your head, you feel a satisfying crack from somewhere in your back, a pleased sigh escaping you.
From your bedroom to the kitchen, you walk slowly, as if dragging yourself. The ache in your legs from yesterday wasn’t entirely gone, with walking especially feeling like a chore more than anything, but you did your best to persevere.
Or, well, it’d be more appropriate to say Sophie kind of made you.
Without delay you find her food bowl, filling it up and watching with an odd look of satisfaction and horror as she goes to town. It never ceased to amaze you, day in and day out, how this tiny creature could vacuum up more food than should be physically possible.
Ah well, black holes and all that. Now, time to take care of you.
Shuffling out of the kitchen, you round the corner heading into the living room... and immediately stop. A noise- again with the noises- that you didn’t expect to hear catches you off guard.
Was… was your bathroom sink running?
You pause a moment to listen, just to make sure you weren’t hearing the upstairs neighbor, but after a second you confirm. Yep. That’s your bathroom, alright. You didn’t leave the sink running last night, did you? No, no, surely… Well, it wouldn’t have been the first time, unfortunately, if that were the case.
Walking over to the bathroom door, which was located right off the living room, you grab the knob, twist it and–
“GO0D MORNING, [little sponge]!”
–come face to face with Spamton, who’s standing on the bathroom counter, making a slight mess of your sink. He looks at you expectantly as you stand, frozen in the doorway, hand gripping the doorknob like it's the only thing holding you up.
Right… right right right. Oh, that wasn’t a dream. In your sleep-addled state, you had brushed it off, assumed the little… person, you had invited into your home was a figment of your exhausted imagination.
But no, there he was, standing on the counter, washing his hands with your face scrub.
You stand there another second, your brain lagging slightly as the events from the night before become crystal clear in your mind. Apparently it takes you a little too long to process this, as Spamton’s cheerful smile slips into something resembling concern.
“HEY... YOU ALRIGHT THERE [cat got your tongue]??” he asks, shaking his hands dry before jumping off the counter, his inquisitive stare breaking you out of your stupor. He wasn’t even doing anything, saying anything, but the way he looks up at you makes you feel… warm. Warm in a way you weren’t accustomed too.
“N-Nope! Nope I’m, I’m fine. Sorry, still just waking up, I guess,” your voice comes out a little shakier than you’d expected, one of your hands twisting into the fabric of your shirt. Spamton cocks his head to the side slightly, glasses falling down the bridge of his nose, his eyes trained on you, as if studying you, and suddenly you feel more nervous for reasons you can’t possibly articulate.
“Probably just, uh... hungry!” you stammer out. Yep, that’s gotta be it.
Running a hand through your hair, which you hope distract from any unwanted color that may be staining your cheeks, you turn on your heel and make a beeline for the kitchen, Spamton following close behind. The soft sounds of his shoes on the living room carpet, the tiny clicks of his joints, follows you as you walk, making you a little too aware of how quiet your apartment is.
Has it always been this quiet when it was just you?
“BY THE WAY… I NeVER GOT YOUR [credentials]? H0W RUdE OF ME!!” Spamton pipes up, breaking the silence, causing you to stop in your tracks.
Oh wow, he’s right. In the excitement, for lack of a better term, of everything that happened last night, you never really did introduce yourself. Looking back, you find him staring up at you, his hands clasped politely in front of him, smile beaming. With the smallest of stutters you tell him your name, and he repeats it a few times, as if committing it to memory.
“GoTTA SAY, N3VER HEARD THAT ONE BEFORE!! REALLY A [One of a Kind]!!!”
You keep walking toward the kitchen, a little faster now, chest feeling just slightly tighter.
Sophie doesn’t even bother looking up from her dish as the two of you walk in, her face still glued to whatever kibble remains. From the tiny window perched high in the kitchen, above the sink, warm sunlight flows in, casting the entire room in a soft yellow glow. As much as you weren’t technically a morning person, you can’t help but find a special kind of peace so early in the day. It helps clear your mind, steady yourself, and think clearly.
And what you're thinking about now is food.
As you go about meandering through cabinets, trying to make up your mind, you watch Spamton from the corner of your eye as he pulls himself up onto the coffee table, clearly trying to get a good view of what you're doing. After some hemming and hawing, you find something that piques your interest.
“Hey,” you start, perhaps a bit too suddenly, the sound of your voice making him jump just a little. “Do you like pancakes? I’m kind of in the mood.”
Turning to get a better look at him, you watch as he stares blankly at you for a moment, eyes obscured behind the glare of those bi-colored lenses, hands held together in front of him. When he finally speaks, it’s a little warbled, subdued.
“HEH, MAYBE MY HEARING ISN'T [update to the latest version]. ARE YOU… YOU’RE OFFERING TO MAkE [Free Complimentary Breakfast] FOR… ME?” he points at himself, as if to accentuate the question, and you feel your grip on the pancake mix tighten ever so slightly.
“Uh, yeah? You’re my guest, I’m not gonna let you go hungry,” you say, almost incredulously, as if the very thought that you'd simply let him starve was almost offensive. It seems like such a tiny thing, so obvious in hindsight, but as you speak he seems to perk up, the rosy color of his cheeks flushing just a hint.
Oh, how… cute.
When he finally manages to find his voice, he looks up at you, smile beaming, a hint of embarrassment painted on his face.
“YOU’RE A REAL [doll], YOU KNOW THAT?? NOT MANY ‘ROuND WHO’D GIVE THIS [sore loser] THE TIME OF DAY, LET ALONE…” he pauses, gesturing towards the pancake mix, his smile losing some of its earlier shine. Something crawls up into your chest, something tight and… discomforting, and without thinking you take a step forward, placing a hand on top of his head, fingers threading through his hair.
“It would be my pleasure,” you say simply, a tiny smile on your face, eyes curling up with warm intent. He looks at you, eyes wide with wonder, and perhaps something else you can’t quite place, and in a heartbeat you retract your hand, turning to busy yourself at the counter once more.
With your back turned you miss the subtle motion of his hand, as if reaching out for you, before quickly pulling himself back in.
Grabbing a bowl and measuring cup, you jump into preparing breakfast. It's a simple process, one you've repeated dozens of times. You try your best to eat healthy, as everyone does, but the allure of starting your day with something soft and sweet was too much to resist. As you work, pouring batter onto an already hot buttered pan, you toss a look over your shoulder. Sitting on the coffee table, legs crossed, Spamton doesn't catch you stealing a glance, seemingly much too preoccupied with the junk mail you let pile up. With a flick of your wrist you flip a pancake, listening as it sizzles.
A few quiet minutes follow, and before you know it all the batter's been cooked off. Turning the stove off, you bring the small stack of fresh pancakes over, along with any utensils and syrup you might fancy. You can't help but notice the way Spamton is practically salivating, his eyes laser-focused on the plate. Once you're seated and comfortable, his eyes bounce from the plate to you, pleading.
A small laugh, light and airy, escapes you. "Go on, you don't need my permission," you say, pushing the plate toward him. There’s barely a moment, a pause, where he looks at you, eyes practically sparkling, before he snatches up one of the pancakes, not even bothering to use a plate.
It’s gone before you even have a chance to blink.
Grabbing another, Spamton actually takes a moment to chew this time, letting out a pleased static hum with each bite. Resting your chin on the palm of your hand, you watch, mildly fascinated, slightly endeared. You couldn’t remember the last time someone seemed to enjoy your ‘cooking’ this much, if you could even call it that.
Oh, right, there was something you wanted to do. Now was probably a fine time, you think.
"So…" you start, clearing your throat. "If you... uh, don't mind, could I ask you a few questions?"
Spamton looks up at you, nodding, finishing off the pancake he was holding in a few quick bites.
“ANYTHING FOR YOU [doll], ASK AWAY!!!”
There’s a silent moment as you put your thoughts together, mulling over exactly what to say, fingers drumming against the table nervously. “Well, it’s just… listen, this is going to sound rude, I think. I know you’re not a ‘what’, but I still have to ask...”
You sit forward, eyes practically glazed over with curiosity. “What, exactly… are you?”
Again, another pause, but this one is short lived as, without warning, Spamton bursts into a sudden fit of laughter.
"HeHEHaHA HA… OH, Y0U'RE A FUNNY [little sponge]!!" he leans back, having to prop himself up on one arm to keep from falling straight off the table. He doesn't seem to notice the look of utter confusion plastered on your face, or doesn't care, as he continues to holler like you just told the funniest joke he's ever heard. It takes him a solid minute or so to finally settle down, and even then he still catches himself in tiny bouts of giggling.
"I… I mean it. Believe it or not, I’ve never met… someone like you," you say, your voice trailing off at the end. In response, he flashes you one of his usual blinding smiles, leaning forward as if to share a secret.
"WH- I'M A DAR KNeR, OBViOUSLY!!" he says, a look of clear disbelief evident on his face. When you give him the same confused look, only more intense, he continues. "Y'KNOW… DAR KNeR'S, LIG hTNER'S… THAT NOT [ring ring ring] A BELL??"
Not… not really, you think. You shake your head no, and watch as his eyes grow wide.
"OKA Y…. HOW AB0UT THE [Dark World]? CYB3R CITY? ANYTHING???" he continues to press, leaning forward a little more with each word, until the tip of his nose is nearly touching yours.
You instinctively lean back.
"N-No, sorry, can't say any of those sound too familiar to me."
With a little static huff, he sits back, grabbing another pancake and chewing on it thoughtfully. In truth, you expected Spamton to be something unknown to you, simply looking at him was enough to tell you that. His segmented limbs, porcelain in appearance, and occasional jerky motions initially gave you the impression he was some form of animatronic... but the more you watch him move, hear him speak, the more… human-like he's become in your eyes. There was so much purpose behind his movements, so much emotion… and when you touched him last night and felt how warm he was, there was really no doubt.
He was alive at least, that was the one thing you could say for certain.
As for being from… a whole other world, you guess it wasn’t terribly out of the realm of possibility. Hell, it’s not like you could argue with him on the matter, and even if you could, why would you? He hadn’t given you any reason to distrust him really, even the whole ‘breaking into your apartment’ thing had technically been your fault, in some backwards logic kind of way. Might as well roll with it, you think with a shrug.
So, another world…
“Why don’t you, uh, tell me about it?” you ask, your voice tentative. “This ‘Dark World’, I mean.”
Spamton, mouth full of pancake, almost looks a little surprised at your request. Was he not expecting you to believe him? It was certainly possible, most probably wouldn’t. Sitting up a little straighter, he swallows the last of what he was chewing and gives you an almost thoughtful look, pushing up his glasses before speaking.
“YOU CERTA1NLY ARE A [curiosity killed the cat] AREN’T YOU?” he says, voice light with quiet laughter. You nod, leaning forward again just a tad, and he breaks out into another ridiculously bright smile.
“W E L L, IF YOU INSIST!!!”
If there was one thing you could pinpoint definitively about Spamton, in this present moment, that you enjoyed, it would probably be his energy. Passion. Never had you met someone with as much… oh, what’s a good word? Vigor, perhaps. Every motion he made, word he spoke, had a vibrancy behind it that you’d never managed to find in yourself. And this seemed to come out ten-fold when given the opportunity to talk about something ad nauseum, because, without delay, he jumped up, standing on the coffee table as he rattled off everything he seemed to know about this supposed ‘Dark World’.
If you're being entirely honest, you probably only understood a quarter of what he was saying, at best. It wasn’t even his fault, sometimes, just the very idea of another world, another plane of existence, was still a little much for your mind to handle. You nodded along anyway, not humoring him persay, simply accepting that maybe with time, it’d make more sense.
Eventually, and almost predictably you thought, the rant took a slight turn.
“ –BUT ENOUGH ABOUT THAT [bird brain] BUTL3R, NEXT TO ME HE WAS JUST A [small fry] BACK IN THE DAY, LEMME TELL YA!! WHY, I USED TO BE THE BIGGEST [[BIG SHOT]] THERE WAS! I WAS PRACT1CALLY RUNNING THE PLACE!!!” Spamton exclaims, stars in his eyes, puffing out his chest with pride. “I WAS WALKIN’ AND TALKIN’ W1TH THE BIG ONES [doll], YOU SHOULD’VE SEEN IT!!”
He takes your rapt attention--
when did you find yourself hanging on his every word, you wonder?
-- and continues his little tirade, hands motioning dramatically as he speaks, as if acting out a play. Before you know it, you’ve been swept up in a grand reproduction of his craziest financial wins, dining with the Queen, and moving into the Castle. At some point you grab a pancake, nibbling on it as you listen intently, eyes glued on Spamton.
You didn’t even bother with a plate.
After a rather heartfelt rendition, as if on cue, the conversation takes another unexpected dip, this time Spamton directing it solely at you.
" --NOW, WHAT ABOUT YOU, MY [little sponge]?" he asks expectantly, eyes brimming with anticipation.
"Wh--… What about me?"
"OH HO, NO NEED TO [play dumb] FOR YOUR [old pal]!!" he says with a laugh, taking a step closer to you, nearly planting a foot right on one of the empty plates. "EVERYONE WANTS TO BE A [[BIG SHOT]], EVERYONE HAS A [Field of Dreams]!! C'MON, NO N33D TO BE SHY!" And again, he's leaned forward far too much, his face mere inches from yours.
The flush on your cheeks is immediate, and painfully warm.
In a heartbeat you lean back in your chair, as far as you can go, and turn your head to look at anything, everything, it doesn't matter. "NOPE! Nope! C-Can't say that I've, uh, got any of t-those! Ha ha… I'm fine just being me! Yep!" your voice is an absolute mess, and you’ve never, in your life, heard your voice crack as hard as it just did. There's also an almost unpleasant lump forming in your throat that doesn't seem to want to go away, no matter how hard you swallow.
What in the WORLD was that, you wonder? Your mind still a fuzzy haze, thoughts jumbled together in a complete and utter rat's nest, your hands gripping the edge of the table with a vice-like grip.
You just aren't used to being so suddenly close to someone, that must be it.
The worst part, if you're being honest, was that you weren't really telling him the truth. But he didn't need to know that. No…
No one needed to know that.
All that mattered really right now was changing the subject, and fast.
"Y-Y'know, that reminds me!" you start, your voice pitching slightly. "I have work later today, and, and I need to throw some laundry in the wash!" With each word you find yourself calming, gaining back a little more control. It also, definitely, helps that Spamton's gone back to sitting on the table, watching you with a curious stare.
"Actually, I was thinking… Do you want me to wash what you're wearing, too? It'd be easier if I just did it all in one go," you say, drumming your fingers against the table. "Honestly, you should probably take a bath too, while you're at it."
Spamton almost looks offended at that, raising a hand to retort, before looking down and giving himself a once over. With the bright morning sun filtering into the room, the ragged state of Spamton’s… well, everything, is made even more prominent. Stains and rips you hadn’t even noticed the night before jump right out at you, including several little holes where buttons were missing on his suit jacket. In short, he was still a complete mess. With a sheepish grin, he nods, rubbing a hand through his messy hair.
"IT'S HARD STAYING [update required] WHEN YOU'RE [sleeping on the streets]..." he says, tone clearly apologetic. You shake your head, a soft smile on your face.
"I understand. You don’t need to explain or anything, I get it,” you say, your voice light, gentle.
With that said, you make quick work tidying up the unused dishes and silverware, slipping into the hallway past the kitchen to grab a towel from the same closet you grabbed the blanket from last night. When you come back, you hand the towel to Spamton, who struggles slightly with it for a moment.
“You already know where the bathroom is, obviously… Oh! And feel free to use any soaps, washes. Take your time too, there’s no rush.” He gives you a rather vigorous nod, making his way out of the kitchen, but before he turns the corner you add, “And leave your clothes off to the side or wherever! I’ll find you something else to wear in the interim, okay?”
He turns to look at you, face a little flushed. Was that a hint of embarrassment, you see?
“IF I COULD MAKE A [specil] REQUEST… PLEASE D0N’T WASH THIS,” he says, grabbing at the fabric of his suit jacket. “I KNOW IT NEEDS SOME [tender loving care], BUT I’M NOT SURE IT’LL SURVIVE A TR1P IN THE [24-hour laundromat].”
Well, that was reasonable, you thought. The poor thing looked like it was going to fall apart at the seams… better not to risk it.
You reply with a small nod, and in a flash he’s gone. A moment later you hear the bathroom door close, followed by the sound of running water. There was a brief moment where you found yourself lost in the sudden stillness, with only the faint bubbling of water and your thoughts to keep you company. When was the last time he had gotten to properly take care of himself, you wonder? How long had he been living in… well, you hate to say it, but really it was filth. From the way he spoke earlier, even in that ‘Dark Word’ he wasn’t doing so great. The thought saddened you, but there was also an equally nice, albeit slightly selfish, feeling that at least you were hopefully making a difference for him. You weren’t sure what you could be for him, or even what this, whatever their… odd little acquaintanceship, was. Best not to overthink it, you suppose.
Right, clothes. You were getting him clothes.
In all honesty you really didn’t think you had anything that would fit him. He was such an awkward, albeit, kind of cute, size. You’d say he came up to your waist, maybe a little higher, which wasn’t too tiny by any means, but still too small to fit most of what you wore. As you pondered this interesting little inquiry, you meandered toward your bedroom, pacing slightly as you mentally went through a list of everything you owned.
And then it hit you.
Sitting in the far corner of your bed was a rather large, rather plush teddy bear, the kind that comes with removable clothes. This one, in particular, was wearing a fashionable little pair of black slacks and a white button up. Oh… Oh no. It was too perfect, you thought. The mental image alone was enough to melt your heart. Imagine, a fresh set of clothes, after living in the same outfit day in and day out.
Without an ounce of hesitation, you stripped the bear, apologizing as you did so, and neatly folded up the new outfit.
With that taken care of, you make a giddy little beeline for the bathroom, excited to show Spamton the surprise–
Or, well, you would have, if not for the distressing puddle of suds you found leaking out from under said bathroom door.
What in the world…
The puddle wasn’t huge by any means, but it was enough to cause questions, and if you weren’t mistaken, it smelled an awful lot like…
You quickly rap your knuckles against the door, calling Spamton’s name, concern lacing your voice. You wait a second, then another, but when no answer comes you tell him, politely, that you’re coming in.
Now, another thing you enjoy about Spamton, other than his incredible sense of energy, was the surprises. You’ve known him for, oh, a grand total of a couple hours now, and already you knew your little guest was just one surprise after another.
And what a surprise you walked into this time.
The moment you open the bathroom door, you're immediately assaulted by a knee-high wall of bubbles, which sweeps throughout the room like a carpet, culminating in a mass that springs up from the bathtub. Thankfully it wasn’t high enough to reach anything electrical, and you guess on the plus side, the bathroom floor was going to be spotless after this.
“S-Spamton… you, uh, you in there?” you ask, pushing aside a swath of suds. There was a tense, uneasy moment, a part of you genuinely worried he might’ve slipped, drowned, anything, but the wait was short-lived. From the bubbly mass pokes out a rather long white nose, followed by a head of black hair. He looks at you, eyes wide, and you stare back, absolutely flabbergasted. One of you had to break the silence, and Spamton took it upon himself to do just that.
“H-HEY [little sponge]... YOU MIGHT WANT TO CHECK THAT SOAP ON THE C-C-COUNTER. I SWEAR I ONLY USED THE [see label for recommended dosage and measurements]!!” he sounds positively panicked, and you waste no time locating this so called ‘soap’ he was using. It only took you a second, and the moment your eyes landed on the bottle, you knew.
You’d recognize that cheap, store-bought brand smell anywhere.
“Spamton, my good pal, buddy…I don’t know how to tell you this, but that’s not soap. That’s my clothing detergent…” your voice is pleasantly more amused than you’d expected, the situation so absurd you simply couldn’t help but laugh.
“...O H.”
You watch as his panic melts into slight relief, clearly taking your laughter as a sign that you weren’t mad, hopefully, but from what little you could see of him there was no doubt that his face was still flushed with embarrassment.
“Well, good news, there’s no doubt in my mind you’ll be squeaky clean after this,” you say with another giggle, using your feet to corral the bubble carpet closer to the tub as best you could. From somewhere in the sea of soapy foam you heard him laugh, a slightly broken noise, like a repeated laugh track being played from underwater. Such a strange sound, you thought, but that didn’t stop the warmth blooming in your chest.
“HEh HAha, I’LL BE A [new and improved] MAN AFTER THIS, [doll]! YOU’LL BARELY RECOGNIZE ME!” he pokes his head out for you to see, a brilliant smile plastered on his face. With this better view you could actually see things you hadn’t before, like the way his wet hair clung to his face, the positively relaxed look in his eyes, or the silly ball of suds that was resting right underneath his nose… right in the shape of a–
You burst out laughing again, harder this time, until you were nearly doubled over. Spamton gives you a confused look, and with a shaky hand you point at the source of your giggle fit. It takes him a moment, before he finally looks down and notices the little bubble mustache he’s currently sporting.
“You’re right, I do barely recognize you! Haha!” you continue to laugh, light and airy, your stomach starting to hurt from the pressure of it, and it only gets worse when Spamton starts modeling his newly acquired facial hair, sending you into another fit of giggles. After a minute you finally manage to catch your breath, both hands resting on your knees, lungs burning ever so slightly.
“Okay… okay, I gotta, I have to throw the clothes in the wash before it gets too late. You finish up in here and we’ll worry about, uh, this,” you gesture toward the suds, “later, okay?”
He nods, face flushed from laughter, and after locating his old clothes, you replace them with the new ones you picked out.
“I left you something to wear on the sink, by the way. If they don’t fit, lemme know, though I’m pretty sure they will,” and without waiting for a reply you slip out of the room, closing the door shut behind you.
With what little detergent you now had left, you throw his clothes and yours into the small washer sitting in the kitchen. As you stand there, watching the clothes tumble around, your thoughts turn to moments before, your chest still light with joy.
When was the last time you laughed that hard? You honestly couldn’t say. It sounded like a depressing thought, in some ways it was, but in that moment you were just… happy. Unapologetically happy.
Only minutes later did you hear the bathroom door creak open, a little cloud of steam wafting into the kitchen, followed closely by Spamton. His hair was still a damp mess, clearly dried in a rush, and he was wearing the new outfit.
He looked… positively charming.
“Comfy?” you asked, trying not to stare. It was hard not to when he just looked so content, comfortable. His porcelain-like skin, if you could call it skin, even almost seemed to shine in the morning light.
“LIKE YOU [10 Crazy Facts You Won’t Believe]!!” he sighed dreamily, shoulders relaxing. You gave him a warm smile, and he flushed, looking away, a hand running through his hair. There was a moment where he seemed to be lost in thought, hands ringing out the fabric of his shirt. When he does speak, his voice is slightly muffled, head tilted into the collar of his shirt.
“Y-Y’KNOW [doll], I REALLY CAN’T, I MEAN, I CAN’T THANK YOU ENOUGH FO–”
RING!
RING!
He jumps, eyes wide, as he’s cut off by your cell phone, buzzing frantically on the coffee table. You glance over and grab it, the number jumping out at you immediately. Your eyes dart to the clock on the oven, and you feel your heart sink directly into the pit of your stomach.
Oh no.
Oh no no no.
You forgot about work.
“Oh my god, is it really that late? Shit–” you scoop up the phone, answering it without delay. Yeah, it was that late, and you weren’t about to hear the end of it. In a mad dash you bolt for your bedroom, throwing on whatever clothes were in arms reach. Sprinting from your room back to the kitchen, you barely catch a glance of Spamton, still standing in the kitchen, watching you, a lost look of concern and… something, something glitchy on his face.
You feel bad, terrible even, but you really really need to go.
Throwing your shoes on with one hand, the other pressing your phone tight against your ear, mumbling sorry’s and excuse’s to your very distressed manager, you throw a quick look over your shoulder.
“I’m so so so sorry, I’ll be back later tonight. Feel free to do, eat, whatever!” and without delay you’re out the door, it shuts with an undignified slam.
And then, it’s quiet.
Silent.
…broken only by a slight, static buzzing sound.